Control
by melliemellie
Summary: Rosalie one-shot


**A/N: **Howdy. This one-shot was originally written as an audition piece for the character of Rosalie. I was quite impressed with myself for how quickly I managed to write it, although you can decide whether you think it's any good or not. I've always loved Rosalie's character, so relished the chance of writing this. Hope you all enjoy :)

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Today is _not_ a good day. Wednesdays never are. Once upon a time, I had held no particular dislike for them; they had been no different to the other six days of the week. That, however, all changed last week when I discovered, from that point on, I was expected to suffer math _alone_. Emmett was being transferred; he never had been very academic. Not that he was an idiot, but compared to the rest of us, his mind lacked a certain finesse-although his physical prowess more than made up for it.

I try to focus on that physicality as I stroll down the glossy halls of Forks High towards class. I have math twice a week, but on Wednesdays, it's a double lesson, meaning I have to endure the inane prattling of pubescent imbeciles for an entire one-hundred-and-twenty-minutes. I have never envied Edward, but on days like these I truly pity his "gift". Even if their thoughts are twice as intelligent as their ramblings, I cannot imagine it being anything less than pure torture.

My heels click loudly against the floor as I reach the door and take a deep breath of resignation. I'm a few minutes late, but that just means a few minutes less spent amongst tiresome company. I twist the doorknob and push the door open, but am almost thrown against the opposite wall when a scent hits my nostrils so divine, it could have belonged to the gods themselves. It permeates the air and attacks my senses so strongly, I can barely breathe, despite the fact I haven't needed to absorb oxygen since the nineteen thirties. It invades my lungs, swims through my veins and assaults my brain with such fervour that I want to slam my head against the closest solid surface I can find just to cease it.

I hear a quiet crack and look down distractedly at my palm to realise I have mangled the doorknob. Then my rapidly darkening eyes look up and desperately search for the source of the intoxicating smell. They scan the room and find it. I blink in disbelief. A boy? A greasy haired, slovenly dressed, Neanderthal-faced _boy _is the reason I, Rosalie fucking Hale, am reduced to a quivering mess in front of a class of twenty. Venom pools in my mouth and, if I had a heartbeat, it would probably be pumping so hard right now it could burst out of my chest. I want him. I want to leap right across this room, drag him out of that chair and bury my teeth so deeply into his jugular...

I bolt from the room, my heels slamming against the floor as I try to put as much distance between myself and that room as possible. I'm breaking all the rules right now, running at my natural speed through the corridor, but I don't care. I'm a mess and I cannot bear it. I reach the girls' restroom and the door nearly comes off the hinges as I enter. I hear a yelp from one of the stalls and kick the door open to find a girl cowering on the toilet.

"Get out," I snarl, my eyes flashing with crazed fury. I swear that girl could have almost rivalled me with the speed she left the bathroom.

I pace back and forth, my fists clenching and unclenching as I try to regain control. I take in deep gulps of air, trying to expel the scent from my nostrils, but it does no good. That fragrance is forever committed to memory. I place a palm on either side of the sink, leaning my weight against it as I try to take stock of what just happened. What _did_ happen? I lost control, that's what! I was caught unawares and ran like a frightened little girl. I faced a problem and cowered away like a weak little mouse! My eyes connect with their reflection in the mirror and they despise what they see. I am Rosalie Hale. I do not lose control. I do not run away. I am not _weak_!

I take in several more deep breaths of the rancid toilet air, for once happy to smell anything other than..._him._ Once my palms have stopped shaking, I slowly stand up straight, assessing my reflection in the mirror. I fix my hair, straighten my clothes and slowly turn. I will not be defeated. I can overcome this, I _will_ overcome this. I take careful, measured steps out of the bathroom, turn the corner and head back down the corridor, ready to defeat this obstacle.


End file.
